


Memory Loss

by Coyotebee



Category: Social Network (2010), The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Amnesia, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coyotebee/pseuds/Coyotebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Mark have been together for years, then Mark wakes up one morning having forgotten who Peter is. Before Mark's memory is completely wiped out, they try to find a cure.</p>
<p>Please read the author's note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Loss

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic nearly a year ago and had it carefully planned out right to the end. Months later, I saw a prompt and filled it, making [Climbing Up the Walls](http://archiveofourown.org/works/720744/chapters/1336270).
> 
> This fic is similar to CUTW and because of that, I stopped writing this one. The purpose of this story was the same as CUTW's - I wanted a universe with Mark and Peter together. Both stories revolve around memory loss and the issue of identity. It's also about Mark and Peter's relationship. I didn't have much motivation to keep writing because I'd just be rehashing the same ideas. And I like CUTW better because Eduardo gets to be in it, Mark's true love. :)
> 
> Still, I spent a lot of time on this fic, so I just wanted to put up what I had to make it feel worth it. It has no end and I cut some scenes I had originally written in. Might be a little jumpy! I edited it down to the moments where I liked the character interactions. The bits that just advanced plot were removed because when a story isn't even finished, plot becomes irrelevant.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this long intro. I hope you enjoy what I have!

Mark opened his eyes. The first sign that something was off should have been the crumpled red mask on the hotel room floor. But no, Mark was too sleepy to question the thing. He closed his eyes again and rolled onto his back.

“Mmph,” someone grunted from the other side of the bed.

The natural morning grogginess didn’t have Mark jumping off the bed. He furrowed his brow, opened his eyes again, and then jerked sideways on the bed once he saw the unknown man sleeping beside him. 

Eyes shut, this person turned their head toward Mark, revealing a startlingly unfamiliar face. That’s when Mark’s mind and body was alert enough to be shocked – he scrambled between the duvet, leaped from the bed, and fell onto the floor. The red mask got squashed under his hip. 

“Mark?” the guy said from the bed.

Mark scrambled more to get up. He headed for the door and –

_Where am I?!_

This wasn’t his hotel room. The walls were too bright, there was a dresser, there was _stuff_ everywhere. The stranger lifted himself upright on the bed.

Mark grabbed the lamp on the nightstand and lobbed it him.

The man threw up his arms, and that’s where the lamp smashed into several ceramic pieces. No effect; the hit didn’t even make the man wobble. It was like the lamp hit stone. The man just looked extremely confused and dishevelled.

“Mark! What’s going on with you? Don’t throw my light fixtures!”

Mark wasn’t about to ask any questions about how this stranger knew his name or where he was. The important aspect of the situation was the conclusion: He doesn’t know this guy, he doesn’t know this place, ergo, run away. Mark sprinted for the door – he had no pants on, but who cares it’s a dire situation.

Before he got there, hands clasped his forearms and spun him around. The grasp and pull were scarily firm, yet not hurtful. Mark squirmed as his captor said, “Mark, what’s going on? Why are you scared? Why are you scared?”

The stranger had such concern his voice, maybe Mark does know him. He stopped struggling. The man kept his hands on him, a little looser now. Mark tried to think back to last night. Was there drinking? There must have been drinking. All he could recall, though, was having chicken dinner with a friend, and a bottle of wine was set between them.

“Who are you?!” Mark yelled. The stranger let him go. Mark could’ve taken off right then, but Mark wanted answers now.

“Are you kidding?”

It was a draw over who was more confused.

He took in the other man’s face: Tanned skin, young, handsome, strong eyebrows, a deep dip on his upper lip, and weirdly, a frown of concern.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“You’ve seen me for the last five years of your life. You seriously don’t know me?”

“No, I don’t.”

They gawked at each other for a while, then the stanger said, “I’m not about to murder you, I swear. S-something’s happened to you, Mark. You’ve got... amnesia or something. Do you know who you are?”

“Yes. I’m Mark Zuckerberg.”

“Mark Zuckerberg, the founder of...”

“Facebook. I’m the CEO and chairman of Facebook.”

“Yeah, all good. And what are you doing here in New York City?”

“I came to visit a friend last night.”

“Where were you before that?”

“I was visiting my parents.”

The man shook his head more times than necessary. “No, no. You’ve been here with me for the past five days... You’ve slept here every night since then, including last night. We’re – you know. Um.”

Sheepishly, Peter cocks his head toward the bed.

Mark goes stiff and his mind races to other thoughts.

“But I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”

“Peter Parker.” The man – Peter, apparently – peered into his face. “You really have forgotten me,” he concluded.

Peter slapped his hands to his forehead and looked to the ceiling. “Someone’s behind this, someone’s gotta be behind this. ‘Cause – ‘cause why would this happen to you?” Peter’s arms started flying everywhere, and he shook himself.

_God, this guy moves weird. Am I supposed like this about him?_

“Why would this happen? Why wouldn’t you remember me? You can’t explain that! Someone’s after us, it has to be that. Has to be.”

Mark stayed quiet. He was too busy grappling the basic facts of his life. “I’m dating someone. Dating some guy. All of a sudden.”

Peter stopped moving. “There’s one more thing to it,” he uttered quietly. “You might not know Peter Parker, but do you know Spider-Man?”

“I know of him, yeah. He’s in the news sometimes. I’ve read about—don’t tell me you’re him.” Mark’s eye caught sight of the red mask on the carpet.

“Okay. Then I’ll show you.”

Peter jumped high, and all four of his limbs pressed against the ceiling without a thump. His back faced the floor. He barely needed to crouch to get the height he got.

“Shit.”

Smoothly, Peter peeled himself off the ceiling.

***

It was alarming, seeing Mark like this, Peter thought. And weird... very, very weird. Even if Mark was putting on a show – not that he ever would – Peter could tell it was real because Mark wasn’t looking him in the eye as much. His gaze fluttered around his head, catching his crazy hair, tugging back, and falling to the floor. Actually, the most obvious indication that Mark was genuinely confused was that _he threw a lamp at him._

“Why is this happening?” Mark asked.

“Probably because I’m Spider-Man and weird shit happens in my presence all the time.”

“What’s real then?”

“Us. We’ve been together for three years. You’re a billionaire, I’m a skint photojournalist who’s secretly a superhero.”

He told Mark the basics of their relationship: Peter had been friends with Chris Hughes, and through Chris, they met each other. It was during the first fledging months of Facebook. They were friends until the summer of 2006, when they started dating.

Silence came over the apartment as they both ruminated over the mysterious situation. Peter tried to do what Mark was good at – masking his feelings with a straight, shut lips and eyes that didn’t shift. Peter’s apprehension over the sudden change in Mark was amplifying his senses unpleasantly. The laptop’s whir sounded like a fan. The distant hum of New York traffic divided into specific sounds – wheels on gravel, footsteps, engines revving. His bedroom was so bright.

He couldn’t stop a grimace from breaking his neutral expression, and to hide it, he covered his face and turned away from his husband. This was horrifying, he couldn’t suppress it. There were two people who really mattered to him, his Aunt May and Mark, and he woke up this morning to find that the latter had no idea who he was. Peter didn’t know how it happened, or who did it, or what would come in the future. Was this reversible? Would Mark’s memory worsen? The clock in the living room ticked abrasively.

Peter shook his head, as if it would rid every noise that entered his ears. _Think think think_. Then his mind cleared up just enough to determine what to do.

“So,” Peter said. “We need to figure out how your amnesia happened, and how to get those memories back.”

***

Peter got breakfast ready for them. It was going to be a bowl of cereal and orange juice because it took the least amount of brain power. Most of his mind was dedicated to making sense of everything.

At the tiny kitchen table, he set down their bowls. Mark was lost in his thoughts too -- he seemed a little shocked to see Peter sliding a bowl over.

“I’m usually the one who sits on that side,” Peter remarked. He wasn’t sure why he said it – it was clearly making Mark more uncomfortable.

They took their first mouthfuls of Cheerios. Peter wasn’t going to let themselves skip a meal, regardless of the current matter. Peter needed regular caloric intake. He also knew that when Mark was extremely focused on something, the ridiculous guy forgot every basic bodily need except urination.

“I think we should go to the doctor first, see if they have some kind of treatment they could give me right away,” Mark said. He lifted his spoon to his mouth. It slipped between his fingers and clattered loudly on the plastic Ikea tabletop.

“I was thinking the same,” Peter said between slurps.

To see Mark sitting stiffly in an apartment he spent hundreds of hours in was surreal. Peter would’ve taken his hand and squeezed it gently. That was his comforting gesture for Mark. He was too afraid to do it though, in case the unfamiliarity just made Mark sit more stiffly.

Mark started scooping up the remaining milk from his bowl. Another surreal moment.

“Hey, I always drink that for you. You don’t like the milk, but you hate wasting it, so you give it to me.”

“You really do know me,” Mark said quietly.

Even though Mark had forgotten him, Peter wished he would look a little more pleased as he said it.

***

Peter disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower, and Mark wandered his way back to the bedroom. 

The place was bright and cozy. It was properly lived in, unlike his bare Palo Alto studio apartment. Over breakfast, he had wanted to ask if he helped pay the rent because face it, this was New York City. How could an upstart twenty-four-year old photographer hold up? He remembered how his friend Eduardo had a place in the city, years ago. The only way Eduardo managed that was his already wealthy status.

See, he could remember that fact perfectly. He could also remember one of the phone calls he made to Eduardo.

_“Do you realize your actions could have permanently destroyed everything I’ve been working on?”_

_“_ We _have been working on.”_

Five years and billions of dollars later, the memory gave him a light pinch of regret. 

__In the sunlit bedroom, he searched for his wallet. He needed his identification for the hospital. He zipped open what he assume was his suitcase. It was empty. He went for the dresser. The bottom drawer was open, and in there, were several shirts he recognized as his own._ _

__Confusion hit him again – the last time he saw that grey t-shirt was in his bedroom closet in California. Another fake memory to add to the list._ _

__***_ _

__“Got everything?” Peter asked._ _

__“Yeah, you?”_ _

__“Yep. Let’s go.”_ _

__They rode the elevator down. Peter felt calmer, knowing they were headed out to solve their problem. In the pressured situations he found himself in as Spider-Man, the worst times were when he couldn’t do anything productive._ _

__“Turn off your phone,” Peter said._ _

__“Why?”_ _

__“I’m not taking any chances. Whoever’s after us might be able to track that signal.”_ _

__“Someone’s tracking us?”_ _

__“Probably.”_ _

__“Why? What are they after?”_ _

__“Me.”_ _

__“But I’m the one with amnesia. Nobody knows you’re Spider-Man, anyway. How do you know they aren’t targeting me? For, I don’t know, money?”_ _

__“No offense, but everyone who’s after you seem to have million-dollar lawsuits. People who are after me tend to have like, bodies made of sand or tentacles. Using mysterious ways to make a person forget their boyfriend sounds like a Spider-Man kind of problem.”_ _

__“Then they’d need to know who you are. I mean, that Peter Parker is Spider-Man.”_ _

__“Yeah, someone figured that out somehow.”_ _

__“Why would they harm me and not you directly?”_ _

__“They are harming me directly.”_ _

__“What do you mean?”_ _

__Peter pursed his lips. He could handle how Mark’s personal space ballooned and kept him at a distance. He wasn’t sure, however, if he wouldn’t be hurt by the Mark who didn’t understand love._ _

__***_ _

__The elevator doors opened and they walked hurriedly through the lobby._ _

__“I think it’s safe to take the car. Nobody seems to be out here who’ll follow us,” Peter said. They walked briskly into the parking lot. “We’ll come back here later, and pack up our stuff,” Peter said without looking at Mark. “Can you withdraw a bunch of cash? We’ll find a hotel somewhere in Manhattan afterward. We can’t stay at my apartment. Someone knew to target Peter Parker, and since they know my name, they could know where I live.”_ _

__“Yeah, whatever we gotta do... Do you know who’s behind this?”_ _

__“I don’t know. I’ve made many enemies.”_ _

__Mark snorted._ _

__Peter was serious, yet he was relieved to have amused Mark through all this. “It would help if I knew how it was done. Do you remember meeting anybody new lately? Or did you meet anyone alone?”_ _

__“I don’t trust my memory... Actually, it seems to only be memories that you would affect that are faulty.”_ _

__They reached a simple navy blue Ford. Interestingly, Mark knew to go for the driver’s seat._ _

__“So you know you own this car?” Peter asked._ _

__“Yeah, I know. I know that I keep it at Facebook’s New York headquarters when I’m home.” Mark lowered himself into the car. Peter threw in his back pack – he always had it with him, his suit was in there – and got in too._ _

__“The only people I’ve been with in the past week have been my parents,” Mark continued. “I met with Olivia from work, but that was in a restaurant. Lots of people around. That was two days ago.”_ _

__“You didn’t meet up with Olivia two days ago.”_ _

__Mark pulled up to the road. “Shit. My made-up past tells me I’ve never been on this street.”_ _

__“Go right, and then drive six blocks down.”_ _

__He peered at Mark’s profile. There were glimmers of his real, fully formed self was in there. His mannerisms while driving were the same – his mouth was slightly agape._ _

__“Peter,” Mark said hesitantly. “How did you get the crazy powers that you have, the strength and all that? Everyone knows it’s not humanly possible.”_ _

__The only reason Peter didn’t feel completely ridiculous about his answer was because he said it once before, to the same guy sitting beside him. “I snuck into a lab to meet someone who worked there. I got too curious and went into a room with loads of weird spiders in it. One bit me, and here I am as Spider-Man.”_ _

__Mark’s brow furrowed. “Insane.” Pause. “Does the web fly out of your arms?”_ _

__They were at a red light. It was a convenient time to lift up a sleeve to show Mark the strap around his wrist and the device attached to it. He aimed at the floor and pressed the device with his middle fingers. Mark shook when the stream of web hit the floor beside his foot._ _

__“I came up with it.”_ _

__“Wow,” Mark said. “I remember I was a freshman at Harvard when the Lizard versus Spider-Man story was in the news. You must have been a high school kid.”_ _

__“I was.”_ _

__“Here I thought inventing a billion-dollar website at nineteen was impressive.”_ _

__Peter laughed more than what the comment deserved. He was laughing because that was exactly what Mark said the first time he told him about that adventure._ _

__***_ _

__In the doctor’s office, Mark didn’t specify that his memory loss was inclusive only to memories of Peter. It would just complicate things._ _

__“When did you begin to notice these lapses in memory?” the doctor asked. She pushed Mark’s chin upward and peered into his eyes._ _

__“It was really apparent this morning,” Mark said, the only answer he relied on being accurate._ _

__“Maybe two weeks ago?” Peter said from the corner of the room. He was like an awkward teenager, hands in his pockets and a back pack at his feet. “He started to forget little things like where he put his keys, where he put his groceries, if he paid for his bills... that sort of stuff.”_ _

__“So a lot of forgetfulness then... more than a 25-year-old should have?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Mark said._ _

__Peter surprised Mark more by mentioning one other symptom: Dropping things. “He’s dropped a few cups, his toothbrush, things like that, way more in the last couple weeks than he’s ever did.”_ _

__Mark recalled the clattering spoon that morning. When he grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter earlier, he dropped them too._ _

__“It seems like you’re describing symptoms of dementia,” the doctor said with a puzzled look on her face. “Not that it’s at all likely to be dementia. Memory loss can indicate many things. It’ll be a process of elimination to know what’s going on.”_ _

__She had a laptop in front of her and she typed in a few things. It aggravated Mark to see how slow she hit those keys. “What we’re going to do, Mr. Zuckerberg, is take a look at your brain. We’ll start off with a blood test and an MRI scan, about one week from now.”_ _

__“A whole week?” Mark said._ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Great, ‘cause an MRI requires you to be still, right? If I do have dementia, maybe I won’t have the brain capacity to move by then. Perfect.”_ _

__“Easy, Mark,” Peter said._ _

__Mark wasn’t remorseful. This was what he was like sometimes, what he had to be like. When someone was in his way, he had to cut them down with words._ _

__***_ _

__On his way back to the car with Peter, Mark went mute. He hoped Peter couldn’t sense how frightened he was. Whatever he had, it was dementia-like. He really forgot to pay bills? Then today, he entirely forgot his boyfriend of three years? He would worsen until he died because his brain forgot how to breathe. That’s what dementia did to his grandfather._ _

__Peter walked beside him, rubbing the sides of his face, being frazzled. Mark supposed opposites did attract: This man didn’t hold anything back unlike himself. Mark’s expression was blank most of the time, forced like that until it became natural. It made sure everyone knew he wasn’t hurt easily._ _

__“Mark!” Peter suddenly slapped his arm. “Mark, do you remember Dr. Pryon? Fundraiser event – a few months ago. Has a brown beard and crooked nose?”_ _

__An image of a man of that description popped into his head. Crowds of people in suits and dresses were around, and strong perfume floated in the air. Dr. Pryon, a middle-aged man who had a goatee, introduced himself to him, saying he was amazed by his achievements. He then talked about his own occupation. No Peter there, but Mark supposes he really was._ _

__Mark nodded. “He researches dementia. He’s trying to develop other treatments.” As he said it, his eyes brightened with hope._ _

__They stopped walking and Peter placed his hands on both of Mark’s shoulders. “We gotta find him!”_ _

__***_ _

__Mednor Research created a shadow over them from where they stood on the street. It wasn’t entirely dedicated to the organization – there were signs advertising a restaurant, and an optometrist’s office._ _

__“So we’re seriously just walking in there, asking for Dr. Pryon? Like all he’s doing is sitting in his office, playing solitaire on his computer?” Mark asked. Peter heard the slight shake in his voice, from all his adrenaline undoubtedly. Despite the necessity to get to the lab fast, he felt a small twinge of guilt in his gut._ _

__“I’ve got a plan,” Peter assured him. “And he seems more like a Mahjong guy to me.”_ _

__“Right, since the type of beard he has is specific to men who like Mahjong.”_ _

__“He’s a doctor. Solitaire isn’t enough of a challenge.”_ _

__A portly man in a suit passed them from behind. Peter jutted his chin toward the man, indicating to Mark that they were going to follow. They trailed him into research facility’s atrium. At the very centre, in front of three large doors, was the reception. She glanced them over._ _

__Peter made sure they were at an unsuspicious distance from the portly man. Without needed a key or card, the man turned to the leftmost door. A piece of luck for Peter and Mark – this area of the building was accessible to anyone._ _

__Beyond the doors, was a long hallway. The left wall was all window, revealing an expanse of people at their desks. This was the portly man’s destination. Peter could sense Mark going in that direction and he gently tugged him back by the elbow._ _

__Peter continued down the hall. He wasn’t very good at feigning a purposeful air. He was glad though, how certain Mark appeared. His posture was straight, and his eyes were impassive._ _

__Doors to offices started appearing, the further they went. None of the signs on them said “Dr. Pryon.”_ _

__This search needed to speed up. Peter stopped the first person they ran into, a bald man in a white lab coat._ _

__“We’re looking for Dr. Pryon’s office.”_ _

__The man frowned at them. “Dr. Pryon hasn’t been in for the past two weeks. He’s gone missing.”_ _

__***_ _

__“What?” Peter said. The determination he had was turning back into panic._ _

__“Was he kidnapped?” asked Mark._ _

__“Seems like it. The police have been investigating,” the bald man replied._ _

__“Who’s taken over his projects?” Mark asked. Peter was glad at least one of them was thinking straight._ _

__“For the time being, it’s Dr. Crosley. Why do you need to meet her?”_ _

__Mark’s eyes stared certainly at the bald man. “It’s confidential business.”_ _

__“Oh, sorry for being a snoop. You both look quite young to me, I thought you were students.”_ _

__“Can you tell us where Dr. Crosley is?” Peter asked._ _

__“Yes, but she must be a busy lady. You’re probably better off scheduling an appointment.”_ _

__“We’ll try anyway,” Peter stated._ _

__The man told them the rights and lefts they had to take to get to the office. Mark led the way this time, while Peter trailed him and mulled over this new information. Dr. Pryon couldn’t have done this to Mark could he? Maybe. In his experience, doctors had a tendency to be evil. In the case that it wasn’t Dr. Pryon, then the enemy must have captured and used him. Peter would need to learn more about the disappearance._ _

__Peter and Mark arrived at the office’s reception area. The lone secretary greeted them._ _

__“Can we see Dr. Crosley please?” Peter asked._ _

__“Did you have a scheduled appointment?”_ _

__“No. It’s urgent though.”_ _

__“Who are you?”_ _

__“Her son.”_ _

__“You’re very well-built for a twelve-year-old.”_ _

__“Stepson?”_ _

__The secretary sighed. “All right, boys. I need you out of–”_ _

__“Can you call up Erica Albright please?” Mark interrupted._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Can you call up Erica Albright?” Mark said flatly. “I see she’s right there on your list of extensions. Erica Albright. We would like to speak with her.”_ _

__The secretary lifted her chin up haughtily. “Do you really know her?”_ _

“She has brown hair, she’s about my height, and she went to Boston University. She has two younger sisters and she prefers _The Great Gatsby_ movie over the book. Is that a sufficient amount of information or would you like to know the kind of toothpaste she uses as well?" 

__Peter chuckled._ _

__***_ _

__Mark didn’t have to remind Peter who Erica Albright was, he seemed to remember the name. And no wonder, given that it was the only girlfriend Mark ever had. He was very deep in the closet then._ _

__Erica strolled in, her white lab coat billowing behind her legs. She looked more or less the same. Her hair was the exception. It was a darker shade of brown, straightened, and cut severely at her chin. Mark gave her a spectacularly unenthusiastic grin. She smiled back. She was much better at faking one._ _

__“It’s been a while, Mark,” Erica said._ _

__“Yeah,” Mark responded._ _

__Erica looked over to Peter._ _

__“This is my friend Peter – well, uh, not friend, my uh—”_ _

__“Boyfriend,” Peter finished and extended his hand to shake hers. Erica didn’t notice the gesture. She was gaping at Mark._ _

__“That’s... a new development,” she said. “I guess our break-up was inevitable.”_ _

__“So... you work here now?” Mark said. Small talk was wasting time, but he didn’t think coming out with, “Get me treatment for dementia!” would be too smooth._ _

__“Yeah. I help with research. I’m in the lab most of the time.”_ _

__“Do you like it?”_ _

__“I do,” Erica said. “So why are you here, Mark?”_ _

__Mark was glad she cut to the chase. “We were looking for Dr. Pryon.”_ _

__“He’s gone—”_ _

__“We know. It’s lucky we found you because I need help with something. Can we talk privately?”_ _

__***_ _

__“Do you work with Dr. Pryon?” Mark asked as the three of them walked the halls of Mednor Research._ _

__“Yes, I was the one who came in that morning and found his lab emptied out,” Erica replied. Mark thought he saw Peter do a little bounce._ _

__“Was his office a complete mess? Did it look like there was struggle?” Peter asked._ _

__“There were a few things smashed. What was weird is that every container of chemicals we had in there was emptied out. Except the brand new samples. They were in storage bins underneath the counter.”_ _

__“Were they hidden from view?” Peter asked._ _

__“Are you a detective?”_ _

__“I’m curious. It’s all very weird, you know.”_ _

__“He wasn’t hiding it. He actually wrote a note on it, saying to store all the newly-made medication and stop all the testing for it.”_ _

__Erica brought them to a picnic table outside. Peter’s shoulder rubbed against Mark, he seated himself that close to him. Mark supposed he should be used to this._ _

__“Mark’s got some kind of dementia,” Peter stated._ _

__Erica immediately raised her eyebrows. “It can’t be dementia. You’re too young.”_ _

__“Trust me, he does.”_ _

__Erica turned to Mark. “Did you just google this and diagnose yourself? It’s unreliable.”_ _

__“Erica, we’re not kidding. We wanted to meet with Dr. Pryon for treatment.”_ _

__“Guys, this is a research facility, not a hospital. The stuff we have is dangerous. Hardly any of it has reached the stage of human testing. You’re way better off getting the usual medication – if it even is dementia.”_ _

__“We’re desperate,” Peter said, leaning toward her. “He’s starting to forget who I am.”_ _

__This information made Erica pause, then she said, “Go to a doctor, they’ll figure out what’s really wrong.”_ _

__“Erica...” Mark said. He had admired Erica’s spine back in his Harvard years. In the end, her spine was proving to be annoying._ _

__“Mark. I’m not saying any of this because I resent you for the past. I’m over that. I’m gonna get fired if they catch me testing this stuff on an actual human subject. It’s going to make you really sick too.”_ _

__“We’ll take the blame. All of it,” Peter said._ _

__“I’ll literally pay you. Name a price,” Mark added._ _

__“A million dollars.”_ _

__Mark started calculating how long it usually took for him to make that much._ _

__“Oh my God, you’re actually thinking about it,” Erica said. “You realize that the drugs we have are experiments? We test them out on mice, and they react to it badly, if they do anything at all. They’ve gone blind, they lose their motor skills, there’s liver failure… All sorts of consequences.”_ _

__“Then I’ll take it first, see what happens,” Peter said._ _

__Hearing that astonished Mark. Mystified him too. He didn’t have the emotional range to know how anybody could do such a thing. There was no upside for Peter._ _

__Erica registered the conviction in Peter’s voice. She took a breath._ _

__“Wait here then.”_ _

__***_ _

They may not know whether the drugs would or not, however, Peter threw his arms around Mark and rocked him backward. He had to do it, Peter didn’t know any other satisfactory way to display his delight. He steadied Mark and pulled away. Mark had a faint smile on his face. _Good enough_. 

__On to the next step. “I’m going to take a look in Dr. Pryon’s lab while Erica’s getting the drug.”_ _

__“You don’t know where his office is.”_ _

__“I’ll assume it’s those boarded up windows on the second storey there. Or that is some ugly architecture,” Peter said. Before Mark could say anything, Peter sprinted off, his back pack bouncing behind him._ _

__Two storage sheds stood close to the building. Peter took out the mask from his bag, and tossed the thing in the gap between the sheds. All there was between there was gravel ground and a lawnmower. This is where he’d land later._ _

__He walked casually toward the research facility. He rounded a corner of it; now he was on its north side. Thankfully, there was excellent treecover here and hardly anybody. In the distance, two ladies smoked on a bench and that was it. Peter leaned against the building’s wall, hoping he wasn’t too awkward. He stuck his hands in his pockets. He peered upward._ _

__While he had the privacy, he put on his mask and stuck his fingers to the wall. He crawled up two stories. After that, he wall-crawled sideways, avoiding windows, until he was back on the west side of the building, where Dr. Pryon’s lab was. Several boards were covering the space of the nearest window, and they were nailed up from the inside. Between each of them were two inches of space. This is where Peter peeked through._ _

__Erica had described the lab well. The vials on the counterspace were empty, from what Peter could determine in the dark of that room. Nothing littered the floor (it was probably cleared away after the investigation). Peter examined all he could through the cracks between the boards. Unfortunately, nothing told him more than what he already knew._ _

__Peter swung his way back to the nearby sheds, and leaped down into the gap between them. He peeled off his mask and shoved it in his bag. He started his walk through the gap. On the gravel ahead, something small and ultra green stood out amongst all the gray. As Peter approached it, he realized what it was: Two feathers._ _

___The Vulture._ _ _

__***_ _

__Erica hadn’t gotten back yet when Peter did. He showed Mark the two feathers and explained: The Vulture was a man who had found a way to fly. The feathers were from the mechanical wings he constructed for himself. Numerous times, Peter had ruined his plans to steal money._ _

__The Vulture must have hid between the sheds for a while and flown into the lab from the sky, smashing through the windows._ _

“But... what was he after? Dr. Pryon is trying to find a cure for dementia here. He’s not _creating_ dementia.” 

__“We’ll ask Erica about the process.”_ _

__They waited a little while longer. Mark appeared relieved. It was the way he let his shoulders ease and set his wrists on his knees. Peter was glad for it._ _

__“Thanks,” Mark said abruptly._ _

__“Hmm?” Peter turned to him, but Mark was looking straight ahead._ _

__“Thanks for, you know, taking these drugs first.”_ _

__It was said quickly and flatly without any warmth sneaking through Mark’s features. Peter then understood who this person was. It was the Mark he first became friends with, the steely sharp-tongued Mark who restrained every feeling that wasn’t annoyance or spite. Peter sensed it back then, that any piece of emotion Mark broke off from himself and gave away, that it wasn’t all he had, it wasn’t one thin shard. It was came from a bigger piece that didn’t fit in him, so he had to break it down. So Peter, sitting beside him right now, knew Mark was thoroughly grateful._ _

__***_ _

__“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Erica said. They had gone into the relative privacy of her car. Sitting in the back seat, Peter rolled up his sleeve while Erica took out a small container from her lab coat’s pocket which held a syringe and vial. Mark watched them quietly from the driver’s seat._ _

__“Erica, do you think Dr. Pryon was kidnapped?” Peter asked._ _

__“We’re talking about this again? Okay,” she said. “Yeah, I think so. The person wanted something. Probably like you guys, they wanted a cure.”_ _

__“What other possibilities are there? Is there anything in the lab that could harm a person?”_ _

__“Of course. Even a high school lab does,” Erica said and held up the needle._ _

__“What about a disease that causes dementia? Or dementia-like symptoms?”_ _

__“That’s not my area.” She gave Peter a sideways glance. “You think Mark was infected by the person who took Dr. Pryon.”_ _

__Peter said too much. He could only shrug and smile awkwardly._ _

__“Peter, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m going to tell you that that’s a reach. Mark, go to a doctor after this. I doubt whatever’s happening to you is connected with Dr. Pryon. Now are you two sure you want me to inject this?”_ _

__Mark looked at Peter._ _

__“Yes,” Peter said. Maybe Mark did have an actual disease, but were they going to wait weeks for a final diagnosis when Mark got worse? No._ _

__“We started testing these on mice, and so far the side effects seem to be severe muscle weakness, bruising, and difficulty breathing. As for the state of their brains, we’re not sure yet.”_ _

__“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Peter said. His Spider-Man body was stronger than most humans, he really wasn’t too concerned about severe side effects._ _

__“This is one dosage. If nothing happens and you’re insane enough to try it out, Mark, call me down. I’d wait an hour though, to see what happens to Peter.”_ _

__“Thanks for doing this, Erica,” Mark said._ _

__“I wouldn’t have done it, but this guy looked like he’d commit suicide if he lost you,” Erica said, pointing to Peter. Mark didn’t react._ _

__The needle glided into Peter’s arm. “I feel like I’m euthanizing you.”_ _

__Erica left them, after directing them to the closest emergency room, three blocks away. She was insistent they do this – she handed them some cash for a cab. Peter insisted they stay there, in the parking lot. They sat on a bench._ _

__Peter felt fine in the first few minutes. Then sweat beaded on his forehead... then the sweat started was dampening his shirt. Blood pumped painfully in his head, behind his eyes._ _

__A wave of nausea. He had to lean over. He felt Mark’s hand grasp his right arm, ensuring he wouldn’t fall completely forward. He puked._ _

__“I’ll go get Erica.”_ _

__“Hotel.”_ _

__“If not Erica, then a hospital.”_ _

__“Hotel,” Peter whispered hoarsely, and heaved again._ _

__***_ _

__Mark was tense once more. So far, Peter was well enough to walk the few feet to the cab that stopped for them. This was going to be a memorable ride for the cabbie._ _

__As soon as the driver saw Peter collapsing into the back seat, he said, “Hospital?”_ _

__“Hotel,” Peter croaked. “I just need to sleep...”_ _

__Mark didn’t understand Peter’s reasoning. The driver was as mystified too, judging from his raised eyebrows, mystified like Mark. Mark though, was too flustered to argue._ _

__Peter leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. His body was completely limp. His bangs were wet from perspiration. Mark didn’t know what to do other than ask the cabbie if he had a plastic bag in case Peter vomited again._ _

__Halfway through the commute, Mark saw Peter’s hands starting to shake. Peter shifted himself on the seat, and stuck his hands under his armpits._ _

__“We’re almost there,” Mark assured him. Peter didn’t seem to hear him._ _

__Finally, the cabbie stopped in front of the Marriott. Mark practically threw the fare at him. Mark opened Peter’s door for him. Peter had to haul himself out like weighed the same as a boulder. Mark grabbed his bag for him and swung it on his own back. Mark reached around Peter’s middle to keep him standing. Peter took one step and swayed. It was never more obvious to Mark, their difference in strength. Peter wasn’t brawny, but his superior spider-enhanced muscles stocked heavy weight in the slim body they lined. So Peter swayed forward, and all Mark could do was slow his fall to ground._ _

__He could feel other people’s eyes looking at them._ _

__“Peter, Peter, please get up,” Mark said._ _

__On his four quaking limbs, Peter was still a few seconds more, maybe gathering his strength. He rose back up. The daylight showed how flushed his face was._ _

__He threw up once more. There was no food in his stomach anymore; it was stomach fluid came that came out of him._ _

__They made it into the lobby. There were more concerned looks from the guests and the management. One of the managers asked if she could call the paramedic for them. When Mark refused, a tall man in a suit offered to help carry Peter to their room. Mark and the tall man positioned themselves on each side of Peter, and suddenly this process was much easier._ _

__***_ _

__Peter crashed into unconsciousness ten seconds after he was set on the bed. Mark thanked the tall man very quickly for his help and closed the door on him._ _

__Mark teetered there by the door, wondering what had to be done immediately. Peter was soaking in sweat, probably delirious, so Mark ran out of the room, ice box in hand. Back in the hotel room, he added water to the ice cubes he filled the container with and plunged all the facecloths in._ _

__On Peter’s forehead, Mark laid a cloth. He managed to pull Peter’s upper half off the bed to tug off his dampened shirt. This was another moment in which Mark’s panic completely overrode the awkwardness of the situation. He grabbed one of the longer towels and soaked it in the ice box too, and set it along Peter’s chest. On Peter’s wrists, were his web-dispensing devices which Mark carefully unfastened. In the reach for the nightstand to place one of the shooters there, Mark dropped the thing on the floor._ _

_I’m nervous. Obviously I’d be dropping stuff._

__After picking the shooter up, Mark lowered the room’s vent to the coldest temperature it could be set to. He hoped this would be enough for Peter’s recovery. If Peter didn’t want to go to a hospital (maybe it was because they would force him to stay there for days?) then he would call Erica._ _

__***_ _

__“He’s been puking and has fever,” Mark explained to Erica over the phone._ _

__“What are you doing, calling me? Aren’t you at the hospital?” Erica said._ _

__“Nevermind. These aren’t effects he’s supposed to have, are they?” Mark asked, glancing to the unconscious Peter._ _

__“What happens to a mouse isn’t going to be the same as what happens to a human,” Erica said. “That must be his body rejecting the treatment… which is good. His body is putting up a good fight. If you’re at the hospital, they’ll get it out of his system.”_ _

__“What else can be done?”_ _

__“You aren’t at the hospital, are you?”_ _

__“Erica, what else can be done?”_ _

“The _hospital_ , Mark. Jesus!" 

__Mark hung up. She wasn’t going to help him._ _

__***_ _

__The first hour, Mark was skimming through webpages advising how to cool a fever. Twice, he almost called an ambulance, then reasoned himself out of it in knowing that Peter’s breathing was steady, and his skin wasn’t tinged so red as before._ _

__He refilled the ice box and refreshed Peter’s towels. The water and the ventilation making him cold, he took out a blue hoodie from his suitcase to wear._ _

__His brain seemed to halt. He looked at the hoodie he was holding and questioned why he had it out, what he was about to do with it. Was he in the process of taking out all his clothes to put in the hotel drawers? He stared at the hoodie._ _

Mark’s shoulders tensed up, able to see a disaster ahead with him in it, where there was confusion and unfamiliar faces and rooms and his own failing body trapping him inside until he died, and died empty-headed. _I should know what I’m doing!_ His brain was getting worse. 

__He shivered from cold. Yes, he was cold, that was the reason for getting out the hoodie, he remembered._ _

__Quietly, he leaned over Peter, examining his face. Light stubble speckled the pores above his lip, and his eyelashes were soft and long. His nose sloped at the perfect eye-pleasing angle. He certainly had an appealing face... Except Mark found no inch of it familiar, not one mole or line, which is what Mark was desperate for._ _

__And look at the guy, limbs slack and mouth ajar, and underneath the muscle was an immune system drawing out sweat in its struggle. If Spider-Man genes were affected this intensely by the drug, an ordinary person like Mark couldn’t endure it._ _

__This scared him. Mark recognized it as a selfish fear because while Peter was ill on Mark’s behalf, out of affection and connection, Mark had neither of these. Empathy or love should have given Mark the pain of seeing Peter sick and inert, and the fear that Peter would grieve when his mind was gone. There was none of that as Mark stood at the side of the bed. Mark felt pain only for himself._ _

__***_ _

__Peter shivered awake, had a wave of nausea hit him, dragged himself to the side of the bed, and vomited. It left his mouth slimy and stale. No energy, he let his head thump down lazily onto the pillow – making him feel like he was riding a high-speed carousel. His eyes darkened again. Somewhere on him, something cool was pressed. Distantly, he could hear Mark’s voice. In knowing he was there, Peter fell easily into sleep._ _

__The smell of pasta was what Peter woke up to next. He was still cold, so he curled himself up._ _

__“Are you okay?”_ _

__“I’m...” The word came out out raspy. “I’m awake.”_ _

__“Good.”_ _

__He kept his eyes closed as a warm blanket came over him. Peter, relieved he had the energy to make any movement, reached across the bed, expecting Mark to be there. He wasn’t._ _

__Peter was too sick, too ragged to be disappointed. The last thing he registered before sleeping more, was his shoulder being briefly brushed by Mark’s fingers._ _

__***_ _

__Before it was ten o’clock, Peter heard Mark stir in the other bed and get up. The last two hours, he had been wide awake and sitting up against the headboard. He had enough sleep and his body felt much less sluggish. In those two hours, he theorized the Vulture’s plan and only wished he could stop feeling abandoned by Mark._ _

__“Hi,” Peter said. His own voice rung in his ears – was it from his sickness or his senses going Spider-Man on him?_ _

__Mark stood at the end of his bed. “Are you better?”_ _

__“I feel kinda weak, but functional. The first time I woke up, I was kinda surprised I wasn’t being greeted by God in the clouds,” Peter admitted. “Are you okay?” This was a more important question._ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__That was a lie, Peter knew it. But even when Mark was the memory-filled Mark, he rarely came out with his real feelings to him, not right away. It took time. In the most extreme case, it took six months for Mark to confess his pain over Eduardo Saverin deposing him._ _

__“You know you wouldn’t be able to handle the drug,” said Peter._ _

__“Uh huh,” Mark said without looking at him._ _


End file.
